Forget Me Not
by littledeathsinmusicalbeds
Summary: Harry is ready to let go and Draco is just starting to learn to hold on. Or, how Draco fell in love with Harry Potter through thirteen letters.
1. Chapter 1

Forget Me Not

(**a/n: I just had this idea stuck in my head for a while, I'm not sure if it's any good or not. There'll probably be around four or five chapters, I think. :) thanks for reading **)

disclaimer : own nothing

* * *

What can you say about a seventeen year old boy who died? That he was beautiful. And brilliant. That he loved Quidditch and Butterbeer. And the Beatles. And me.  
His eyes used to shine like lightning ~ ironic. Because of that scar on his forehead, the one that eventually killed him. I used to love tracing out the little lightning mark on his pale, perfect skin. . Because I hoped that if I touched it enough, willed it to go away enough, it would fade.  
It didn't.  
And now he's gone.  
Who am I? I'm a stupid, cowardly little boy who didn't have the courage to stand up and take what he wanted while it was right in front of him. I messed with it, teased it, broke it and threw it into the hands of someone who wanted to destroy it.  
I am covered in scars, ugly and bleeding and breaking me too.  
But that's okay.  
I want to be broken.

* * *

_Chapter One_  
_I have seen your heart, and it is mine_

I never had a father.  
I suppose you didn't either...I see you with him, grinning up at him, begging for acception and affection and all you get is a glare. Or whacked with that stupid cane of his.  
I'm jealous of you in so many ways, because you got to grow up with him, and you even got the chance to hate him. I never had that.  
I got a lightning scar, a pig faced uncle and a dusty cupboard under the stairs.  
By now, you're probably wondering why I'm writing to you. Well... I don't know, to be honest. You infuriate me. You anger me. You humiliate me. You constantly try to put me down.  
And yet...  
Well, I'm writing anyway, so it doesn't matter. And you're reading it, so that has to be a plus too, right? Merlin, I just hope that Hedwig brings this more discreetly... the publicity in front of your family, I just don't need.  
I don't know how you'll take this... you'll probably burn it, or send it back with a scribbled reply - something sarcastic and witty - but I'm not even sure if I would get it-  
No. I'm telling you this too soon. You won't understand, you'll judge and sneer and throw this away. You have to read this and understand, because if you don't...

I don't know.

But that's the thing. Everyone expects me to know. They expect me to understand and cope and be the hero they want, and they never stop to think it might be killing me. Wearing me down.

It is, Draco. Not that you could possibly care.

See, I've tried to write this letter so many times. I've written it to Ron, to Hermione, even to Sirius - and for god's sakes, don't go blabbing he's alive - none of it felt right. It felt alien to write these words to someone who knows and loves me.

It would just hurt them. But, Draco, these words need to be said. And who better to say them to than the very person who wants rid of me the most?

That's why you're reading these words. If you're as smart as Hermione says you are, then...you'll understand by now. But if you're really just a stupid little boy like I used to think you were - then maybe I'll need to write more, so you can get the gist of it.

First of all - I don't want you to save me. When you read this, when you're finished - and trust me, it'll take a while, I plan on writing you a freaking diary - you should just... go to the place. Go to the place that I'll tell you about later and find me and pretend like you didn't know a thing.

I suppose that'll be easy, right? You've been pretending all of your life.

Pretending that you're evil. Pretending you don't care that everyone hates you when really it tears you up inside. Yes, Draco, I know your secret - don't worry, I won't tell. I know a lot of secrets.

This all might sound disjointed and random and... I don't know, mental, maybe? But it'll make sense in the end, I promise. I'm tired, and it's so hard to think straight. It's a miracle I remember how to spell basic words.

Let's call this day one.

Lets start at the beginning.

There are thirteen days, and at the end of it - the day before school starts again - I can stop pretending.

I think that's my secret, Draco. I pretend too.

But then, you already knew that.

* * *

Day One

It's summer. You don't know what that means - for you it's just a couple of months away from school, where you lounge around, read a little maybe, go to a party or two, see your girlfriend. Like a normal teenage boy should.

For me, summer is months of chores, beatings from my cousin Dudley, and being locked in my room with food shoved through a cat flap for just _breathing _wrong.

I'm not there now. Not yet, at least. I'm at the park.

The park Dudley doesn't go to, of course. There's this little winding road at the end of the street - it's buried by leaves and overgrown bushes. I found it when I was running from him once, I think I was seven. I didn't know about magic then, and everything was different - no-one expected anything from me. I was just that little boy in the cupboard under the stairs, with the broken glasses and the parents who died in a car crash, the same crash that gave him the odd scar on his forehead.

I was just Harry, not _Harry Potter. _No-one cared about me then.

But anyway, I was running. I slammed into the wall and rolled over, because I couldn't breathe - the air had been knocked from my body. I sat, clutching my chest and trying to get my breath back, and when I let my head hit against the wall, it didn't hurt like I expected. There was no blood. Granted, there was no magical wonderland with talking rabbits and pretty blue dresses - I would look awful in a dress, that part's a good thing - and there was no evil white witch and talking Lion. It was a little, overgrown piece of land,grass poking up everywhere, weeds scattered around. There was an old tree with a tire swing hanging down. It wasn't much, but it was perfect.

I could hide there.

I started to spend a lot of time there - the little time I had of freedom. I hid and I just escaped to my own little world. I suppose, when I found out I was a wizard, Hogwarts became my own little world - but then, there were a thousand people who thought the exact same thing, right?

No, that was mine. It still is. I'm lucky Dudley is so stupid, because if he even had half a brain he would have figured I don't just _disappear _when I run away from him.

Oh well. Anyway, I was telling you about the first day, so far.

If you want details, I'm wearing a black and white striped top, and were hand-me-downs from Dudley. I'm trying to work out what they smell like; it's half cheeseburger, half... something else. It could be anything - you should never doubt Dudley.

Its warm today. You can't see the sun through the bushes and the tree branches that stretch overhead, but it's still there, and the heat still passes through. I should have brought water or something.

I'm rambling now, aren't I? I need someone to speak to.

I might seem fine. Same old Potter, whatever. But I'm not. Not inside.

I think I remember the day I changed. See, when I found out about magic, everything was _amazing - _like, so fun and new and unbelievable. I loved it and back then, Voldemort didn't bother me. There was no face to put to the name, no actions to prove the rumours. He could have just been an old wives tale or something - like the big bad monster that comes out of your wardrobe and kills you for not eating your broccoli, or something. Yeah, I know, Draco - Rambling again.

But then this wonderful, magical bubble burst and it got _dangerous. _Curses and murder and lives being taken away all because of someone's sick, insane fantasy of _pure blood. _

Blood is never _pure, _okay? It's always tainted. With lies and secrets and hatred and fire.

It's probably about 1 o'clock, now, and I think I should go. My hand hurts from all of this writing. I'll be back... later. Even though you probably don't want me to be.

...

I forgot to ask - hows Lucius? I don't know why I'm asking now. I just... I was just thinking. About things. About everything. And your father is a big chunk of that everything.

I'm at the Dursley's. It's freaking freezing, and I'm actually thankful for once that Dudley's about the size of a mountain troll, because his clothes are loose and warm and certainly warmer than my own would be.

Ink kept splattering everywhere with the quill, staining the sheets, so I'm using a pen, okay? I'm sorry if it like - I don't know, offends you, or whatever, maybe taints these letters with it's muggleness - but it's just easier.

Dumbledore said something about that once. Easiness, I mean, not muggleness. About choosing between what is right and what is easy, or something along those lines. He's always seemed a bit... strange. Like Luna, but older. Like he was off in his own special world where no-one could touch him and he could say whatever shit he damn well wanted to.

I wish I had that world. The park isn't the same thing, obviously.

But I don't. Because I say one thing and the whole world is out to get me. It's all over the Prophet. It's _everywhere. _

And I sure as hell know you've seen it.

_What are you talking about, Harry? _You're probably asking that now. Wait - no. More like... _What the hell are you moaning about now, Potter?_

Yeah. That's more like it.

Well, Draco, it's my seemingly unbelievable claim that Voldemort's back. He _is. _Although... I'm pretty sure I don't have to convince you of that. You've seen him, right? He's been in your home, behind the walls you thought you were safe in, he's probably still there even now.

Is he?

I wish I would be able to hear your answers. I wish you weren't the person they keep making out to be... evil and lying and the sort of boy to turn against his own friends.

Are you that person, Draco? No. I don't believe that. Under your skin, in your veins, in your head - you're just a scared little lying boy.

I'm like a record stuck on repeat, aren't I?

It's eleven fifty nine, it's almost midnight. It's almost the end of the first day.

If I believed in _anything, _anymore, I would make a wish.

But I don't.

* * *

"No, you filthy little -"

Draco stopped.

And turned.

His house elf stood behind him, shaking with a fear she had felt all too many times, because of _something _she hadn't done right.

But he didn't care about that any more - that the little creature hadn't properly washed his clothes because of some bullshit reason or the other. His mind was empty except from _Oh god, Potter's damn owl is in my room, why is she in my room, what in the seven levels of hell?_

He tore across the room, slamming the door on the ugly, quivering creature and grabbing the letter from the owl's outstretched leg.

And right then, in that moment, his whole life turned upside down.

* * *

_Day Two_

Dudley woke me up this morning the way he used to - stomping on the stairs above the cupboard until the dust fell down and I ended up breathing it in and choking.

Oh yeah... the cupboard. Petunia and Vernon figured out that no, the magic wasn't going to be beaten out of me - not for lack of trying - and it was somehow _my fault, _so I didn't deserve the luxury of a hand me down bedroom. I've been in there most of the summer, and oh god, do my legs hurt.

I'm not as short as I was when I was eleven, believe it or not.

Knowing you, it'll probably be not.

So. It's bright and early on day two. The sun is shining high and there isn't a cloud-

Yeah, no. It's raining like it's freaking monsoon season and seriously, I haven't seen the sun all morning. And it's _still freezing. _

I've been wondering... did you get my letter? Hedwig has a mind of her own, sometimes, and if she delivered that to anyone else but you - then yeah, I'll probably be ripped out of this god-damn house and put on lock down because, _no no no, the hero can't think like that, the hero can't possibly think he can just leave us without a way out. _

I'm not a hero, Draco - let's get that straight.

I will _never_ be a hero.

I've always wondered - how did everything turn to crap so suddenly with us? I mean, we could have been friends. You wanted to be, and I turned you down because - _honestly? - _you were being a bitch. This Ron kid had been nice to me and you were tearing him down right in front of me.

I kind of wanted to slap the smirk off of your face.

But... I'm... rethinking.

That's all, really.

I'm sorry I can't write any more today, but you know - hero duty calls, right? I need to write to Sirius and Hermione. Pretend I'm alright.

Pretend I know how to save them.

* * *

When the letter arrived this time, Draco was waiting.

* * *

Day Three

I'm sort of wishing that you would write back, although I know I won't be able to handle another one of your sarcastic responses or cruel remarks.

I don't want you to write back because you're going to make fun of me, of this whole thing, and... I think you shouldn't. Make fun of it. Because it's really, really confusing and _horrible, _and...

And I'll bet anything that you don't understand yet.

I just want to make it clear: I'm not a coward, or a loser, or... well, yeah. Maybe I am. In a way. But I've died and been dead for so long inside that I just don't care.

But...

Okay. Diary-thing, that's what we were doing.

This morning, I woke up late with Dudley thumping on the door - apparently I slept through breakfast and morning chores - yelling at me that '_if you don't get the hell out of that cupboard right now, I'm going to rip the door off and shove it up your ass."_

Yeah. Lov-e-ly.

I got up and opened the door, just sort of staring at him, until he noticed the wand that was lying on the shelf beside the toy soldiers I used to play with. Honestly, the look on his face was comical. And that's _after _the howler from the ministry about 'under-age magic outside of school'.

Seriously, I think he has like a mental problem.

I'm in my "bedroom" now. The cold weather has passed and it's warm, the sun sort of nervously hiding behind a smaller cloud. I don't need to wear hoodies unless I'm in front of people now because it's about fifteen degrees or so, warm enough to be fine with just a t-shirt.

I don't know why I'm telling you _everything. _

Well, actually, I'm not.

There are some things that will always be private, that will stay with me forever.

That you will never know.

Hm. I always seem to be leaving you with these random lines - even though I'm not sure how there can be an _always _when it's only been a couple days - so I won't today.

I'll leave you with a question.

_Have you ever felt so completely and utterly horrified at something about yourself that you feel like maybe you just shouldn't be here any more? _

* * *

The letters were getting shorter, Draco noted. _Didn't you promise a 'freaking diary', Potter? _

What was it with that Gryffindork's obsession with the word 'freaking' that made him want to punch something?

He let out a bitter laugh, because here he was, talking to Potter, the one person he promised himself he would always stay away from. Yes, _talking _to. Because now, after three days of receiving strange, disjointed letters that meant nothing and everything to him, he was finally going to write back.

* * *

_Potter,  
Okay. Enough is enough. First of all, do you know how many questions you've asked me over the course of three days? Too. Goddamn. Many._

_I can't be bothered going through your letters and answering all of them. So I'll just answer your last - on one condition. You answer one for __me. _

_So... have I ever felt like that? Well, just saying Potter - that is completely private. Well, it should be. But you just unconsciously told me that you get locked in a cupboard, so... okay. Alright. I'll answer._

_Yes. I have felt like that. I __do __feel like that. All the time. _

_Your question now - Just what the _hell _are you planning to do?_

_- Malfoy._

Harry was curled up in bed, the blankets pooled around his ankles loosely and the night air coming from the vent in his cupboard whipping warmly at his bare skin when the letter came.

"Hedwig?" he asked tiredly, sitting up too fast and bumping his head off of the roof. She hooted, holding out her leg, the letter poking through one of the slots in the plastic. "Was Malfoy not home or something?"

She hooted again and he shushed her, before opening the door and letting her fly in her cage , dropping a few treats at the bottom. He sighed and untied the letter, taking in the "_Potter_" that was scribbled on the front and ripping the envelope open.

His heart almost stopped when his eyes met the oh so familiar, neat script.

And it _definitely _did when he read the last part.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Day Four

Malfoy. I would say hi, but... Okay, what was up with that letter? Unless I was mistaken, I thought there was some unspoken agreement where I write you this and you read it, and at the end do what I need you to do and be rewarded with _never _having to speak to me again?

Hm. I was probably mistaken. Yeah.

So, your question. _Just what the hell am I planning to do? _

Yeah, so Hermione was definitely wrong about your intelligence. Sorry if I'm insulting you or whatever, but, you know. I made it clear.

I'm not going to say it and if you figure it out, that's okay. Just don't try to stop it.

Living like this has consequences, even if it's not really living at all.

- Harry.

* * *

"Draco."

The boy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning into the darkened living room where Lucius sat, a scowl set on his face.

"Whatever it is, no." he said quietly. "I can't do this anymore."

"What, because of your little back-and-forth with Potter? Does the _chosen one _bring out the light in you, or something equally absurd?" Lucius drawled.

"No. Because I know that if I keep going I won't be able to get out."

He tried to keep his breathing under control, but it was just so _hard. _How in the hell did his father know about Harry's letters?

Did he _seriously _just call him Harry?

Oh, for salazar's sake, he was going insane. There should _not _be so many thoughts whirling about in his head, battling to be heard.

"Why would you want to get out?" his father asked coldly. "Why would you want to be on the same side as Dumbledore and Potter when you can be on the side that will _win?" _

"You won't win. I can assure you of that, right now. Even if Voldemort somehow happens to kill Potter, _you _will never win."

He didn't stay around to hear Lucius's reply.

When he got to his room, he was almost disappointed to see that Hedwig wasn't perched on his windowsill like she had been for the past few days, a messily-scribbled note tied to her outstretched foot and her yellowing eyes glaring at him for a treat.

_The bird was growing on him, _he realised. _Or maybe it was just the letters she brought. _

He threw himself down on his bed, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out the previous letters, reading them through and sighing to himself.

This _sucked. _How could he not figure out what was going on with Harry? Usually he was one step ahead of everyone, at least academically.

And there that was again. _Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry..._

This needed to stop.

He buried his face in the covers and let the letters fall to the ground, trying not to let his mind wander too much. If it did, he might actually start worrying about Potter. And that was insane.

It had only been _four days. _Four days isn't long enough for everything to change, for someone to start thinking differently.

"It isn't," he said into his pillow, his voice coming out muffled.

_It isn't._

* * *

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed, his heavy foot steps coming to a stop outside the cupboard door. "Get out, now!"

Harry rolled over tiredly, his body protesting as he tried to sit himself up and push the blankets away. It was nine in the morning, or at least the flashing green numbers on his alarm clock said so, which was _too early _for him to be awake, especially after a long night of tossing and turning with Malfoy's words running through his mind.

He had scribbled a reply back, tied it to Hedwig's leg and made sure she flew out the kitchen window without getting caught, and then collapsed into sleep at some point in the night, trying to ignore the chants of _Just what the hell are you planning to do?, _that were stuck on repeat. To be honest, he didn't know. He didn't know how, he didn't know what would happen once he did, he just knew that he _had to, _he didn't have another choice.

That didn't mean it didn't scare him, though.

"Boy!"

Uncle Vernon was pounding on the door by now, and Harry sighed. "I'm coming."

He pulled his jeans up from the floor and threw on a t-shirt, before unlocking the door and stumbling out. "What is it?"

"You have a letter," Uncle Vernon said, his face bright red and murderous. "From someone called Draco Malfoy."

_Fuck. _

"Who?" he closed the door to the cupboard and turned to follow his Uncle, who had stalked into the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

_Don't panic. Breathe. He hasn't said anything about... just. He hasn't said anything. _

Dudley handed him the letter, which was still sealed (_ohthankgod). _"From one of your freaky friends," he spat. "Take it."

Harry glared, snatching the paper and stalking back down the hall to grab some paper, a pen and his wand, before opening the front door and glancing out into the summer sun.

"I'm going out." he said coldly.

He slammed the door hard behind him.

_Bloody Malfoy, _he thought, as he made his way to the park/clearing/hole-in-the-wall (he needed a name for that). _They almost read that letter, what if they found out? _

He came to a stop at the wall and climbed through, branches scratching his jeans and tangling in his already-messy hair.

He stopped, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of him all over again.

The tree was gone.

* * *

Pansy sat in the corner of his bedroom, sipping cold pumpkin juice and humming some song under her breath as he paced back and forth.

"You're supposed to help," he said, glaring at her after a few more minutes. "Pansy!"

She sighed, turning to face him. "What am I supposed to help you with? Your crush on Harry Potter? Sorry, dear, but I'm not getting paid enough for that."

"You're not getting paid at all you insufferable witch. Just... please."

She smirked. "Begging, Draco. Really?"

"Just help me!"

"Not until you let me read the letters." She set her glass down, pushing up off the chair and walking over to where he stood.

He sighed, sitting down on the end of his bed carefully and burying his head in his hands. "I can't. They're private, Pans."

"I'll help you if you let me read them, but not until then." she patted him on the back, picking a book from the shelf on his wall and wandering back over to the corner. "Let me know."

_Potter. I got your letter, and... to be honest, I don't know what to say. "Even if it's not really living at all"? How do you figure?  
I can't believe I'm saying this, but, I can't figure out what your intentions are. I've tried, and I've read every letter _backwards, _I just can't see it. So how about this. You tell me, and I'll tell you something I've never told anyone before. Something you'll probably use as blackmail against me for the rest of.. until the day before school?  
Yeah. Well. You know, whatever you decide._

It had been almost an hour since Pansy had retreated to her corner, and in that time Draco had paced, pulled half of his hair out and thrown himself back on his bed dramatically at least three times.

He couldn't let Pansy read the letters, because.. Well. Potter had sent them to him, trusting _him _with whatever this is, and maybe there was a part of him that didn't want Pansy to have something that was his.

But... she said she was going to help him. He _needed _help.

"Pansy."

She looked up from her book, (_Anna Karenina, why did he even have that anyway_) and smiled. "Giving me the letters yet?"

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and reminding himself _yes, this is why she's in slytherin. _"Yes."

...

_Day Five_

Draco,

I was in the mood to shout and scream at you (the best that you can in a letter anyway), but now I don't want to. I went to the little park I told you about, and.. The tree was gone. I don't know, I shouldn't care, should I?

It's just a tree. Everything dies, everything gets torn down, everything leaves. Why get upset over it?

I have to say, I'm surprised. That you haven't figured it out yet, I mean. And that you offered me a _secret. _I wasn't aware we were twelve year old girls.

I'll answer your questions, I guess.

I _figure, _because I have to fight for things that should come naturally. I have to pretend that none of this bothers me and that I want to _kill _someone, when really, I don't. I have to go to a magic school (that I love) and be friends with people who think I'm a hero and try and live up to their expectations. It's constant lying and fighting and trying and I just don't _want _to, anymore. That's why it's not living at all.

How about no. I don't want to know your secrets, and I don't want you to know mine. I don't want to blackmail you because I'm _not _a Slytherin, okay? I don't.. I don't do that. At least, I don't think I do.

Maybe I should tell you one secret, though.

I like writing to you. And I'm almost sad that I only have eight days left. I'm glad I chose you and not... not someone like Neville, or Luna.

That was three.

- Harry.

* * *

Pansy sighed, throwing the latest letter down and glaring up at Draco.

"You are an idiot, you know that?"

He shook his head, not even bothering to look at that. "I know. I know. I just can't believe.. Pansy, I don't think he's going to do that. Tell me he's not going to do that."

Draco looked up at her, his eyes filled with tears he wasn't going to let fall and a strange feeling in his stomach.

"I can't," she said softly. "Draco, he's going to do _that _in eight days. We can't stop him."

"I feel sick."

He pushed up off the bed, ignoring her as she called after him. When he reached the bathroom down the hall, he fell down against the door, his heart beating too fast, his stomach churning.

He shouldn't care what Potter did, what happened to him. He _shouldn't. _

But he did.

...

When Draco had finally stood up, brushed his clothes down and left the bathroom, Pansy was gone. He was almost expecting to find another letter, maybe from her this time - because that's all his life was anymore, letters.

There was nothing.

Just an empty glass, a closed book put back where it came from, and _We can't stop him _hanging in the air. She was right - they couldn't stop him. He hated Draco, he hated Pansy, he wouldn't listen to them.

But.. what if there was someone he would listen to?

Draco lay down on his bed, kicking the letters aside and burying his face in a pillow. Harry didn't want anyone to help him, and he had trusted Draco with the letters, even though it must have been hard.

_Maybe this would have all been different if he had just taken my hand._

_Maybe I could have helped him. _

But then _everything_ would be different. Everything, and there must be some good things about Gryffindor and Harry's friends that even Draco wouldn't want to take away from him.

Sighing, he grabbed a quill and some parchment.

_Professor, _

_Don't let him. He's trying to - _

He glared at the parchment, like he was expecting it to make sense all by itself. He couldn't just write to the Headmaster and _tell _on him, beg him not to let him, because - if it was possible - Harry would hate him even more.

He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and watched as flames wrapped around the paper, burning away his words and his chance to stop Harry.

"I'm not writing any more letters," he said to nothing in particular. "My life isn't just reading disjointed crap and asking pointless questions that won't matter in eight days anyway. It's _not."_

He felt like even the inanimate objects in his room were judging him.

Hell, he was judging himself.

_It's a cry for help, _something told him. _He needs you to help him. _

He shook his head, forcing the thoughts away.

"I still hate him. He can do as he damn well pleases." he said coldly, even though the churning feeling in his stomach that was _still there _disagreed with him.

When he didn't get a letter for two days, he forced himself not to care.

(**a/n: hi. I've had this chapter written for a few days and I'm not happy with it, cause it's a lot shorter, but oh well. :) thanks for reading**)


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

For the next few days, Harry busied himself with chores and homework and painting the garden shed; so it felt like every other summer, too much work and not enough time to think.

Dudley sat in the garden watching him, sneering and smirking every time he jagged his hand on a splinter in the wood, or got paint on his clothes.

_I don't want it to be like this. _

He said it in his head every morning, every night, every time he had to clean something disgusting. _I don't want it to be like this. _

He wanted Hogwarts and his friends and people who didn't hate him, he'd even rather sit with _Snape. _But he forced himself to keep going, because it was almost like a reminder, like something inside him was saying, _"This is why you're doing it. This is your reason."_ Even though really, it wasn't.

In that time, he forgot about the letters. He forgot to complain to Malfoy, or tell him random little secrets he didn't know he had. _Because Malfoy is not your friend, you don't have to write to him. _

He forgot, until a letter appeared on the garden bench, a tired looking Eagle Owl sitting beside it. Dudley had long since gone in to the house, which he was thankful for - he didn't want a dead owl to send back to Malfoy after his beast of a cousin had _sat _on it or something.

Putting his paint brush down, he took the letter, petting the owl carefully and watching it fly away. He was almost scared to read it, because it had been _two days. _Malfoy was either extremely pissed off or... well, yeah. He was probably just pissed off.

_Potter,  
You do know you're an idiot, right? I had some... help... and I figured it out. All of it. Even though I realise that you live in a cupboard and everyone's praying for you to murder someone, how bad do you really have it? You're the chosen one, a lot of people love you.  
And there might be a part of me that doesn't want you to.. do that.  
I've sat for two days waiting for your stupid diary, and it never came. I tried not to write to you that first day, I felt like I should have hunted you down the second, and now I've had enough.  
You gave yourself thirteen days, didn't you? It's day eight. Five days left. You know where I am if you decide to stop being a prat, okay? And if I don't hear back from you today, don't think I won't go to Dumbledore.  
- Draco. _

Harry turned the paper around, and saw an address scribbled on it.

"Idiot," he murmured. "You're an idiot."

He didn't know if he was talking to Draco or himself.

* * *

"Father," Draco called, as he passed through the empty halls. "Father!"

He heard a grunt, like the man was just waking up, and shook his head. _Sleeping in the middle of the day again? What would Mother say. _

He found his father in the sitting room, a blanket thrown over him - probably by one of the house elves.

"I'm leaving for a few hours, I'll be back after seven."

"What? Where are you going?" Lucius shook himself awake, and Draco tried to ignore the empty bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table.

"I'm going to visit a friend," he said quietly, and hell if that wasn't the biggest lie he's ever told. _Harry Potter is not my friend. He's not. _

Lucius sighed and waved him off, his head hitting the pillow before Draco even managed to leave the room.

_You're not supposed to save me, I'm not going to come.  
Stop writing back, okay? I never wanted that, I never wanted you to write back. Well, maybe I did just a little. But it doesn't mean you can.  
We hate each other, Draco. You've been wanting me dead for so long, why change your mind now? _

Draco had recieved the letter about an hour before he stepped into the living room and told his father he was leaving. It was short, it didn't have a day, and it wasn't signed, but still - it had an address scribbled on the back, along with _"because you gave me yours."_

Now he was standing on the cold street outside a muggle house, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, every breath he took screaming _turn back stop turn back. _Every beat of his heart shouting; _He wants your help, he wouldn't have given you this address otherwise. Don't run. _

"Don't." he said, clutching his wand tighter. "Don't run away like you always do."

He sighed and pushed open the gate, slipping his wand into his jeans - muggle clothes, nasty but necessary - and walking up the path.

At the door, after he stood and waited for _too long _and heard a gruff, _"Boy, get the damn door!" _shouted out, it swung open, Harry standing on the other side.

"Malfoy?" he asked, stepping out and closing the door quietly behind him. "What are you doing here?"

"I got sick of writing. Please don't do this," he found himself saying, before he had even managed to _think _the words.

"Draco - " he stopped, wincing. "I mean, Malfoy. What are you talking about?"

"I'm _talking _about _you,_ thinking it's okay to... do this. To kill yourself. It's not. So don't, please just listen to me and don't."

Harry closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't."

"Give me a day, and I'll give you a thousand reasons. Please?"

There was silence, nothing. Harry had opened his eyes and was staring at Draco, confusion and hate and _why _laced in his eyes.

"If I give you a day, all you'll give me is a thousand reasons why I _should. _" he said coldly, opening the door again and stepping back into the muggle house. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

The door slammed, and Draco was left standing on the doorstep in the freezing cold.

* * *

Harry made it halfway to his cupboard before he broke down. He could still see Malfoy through the glass, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and looking completely different from the boy who hexed him at school.

_He's not being honest. He just wants to hurt you, _something told him, some part of his mind that had been speaking so much the past few days he was considering cursing it off.

"Oh, shut up." he told himself, wiping away a few tears that had fallen down without him noticing.

He hurried back down the hall way, pulling the door open.

"What makes you think I want to do this?- " he demanded. Draco scrambled to his feet - had he been sitting on Harry's _doorstep? _

He didn't get the chance to say anything else, though, because the blond haired boy lunged at him, pinning him against the door and all Harry could think was _he's going to hit me, now of all times?, _and well... he just wasn't expecting it.

He was waiting for fists and blood and _I hate you_'s, not Malfoy's soft lips touching his, so quick he could convince himself it didn't even happen. He slid his arms around the other boy's waist, pulling him closer even though he knew he should be pushing away. He gasped in the cool air, wondering _what is happening, what am I doing? _

"That's one reason, Harry."

Draco surged forward again, and it was a battle of lips and clashing teeth and hands pulling, pulling each other every which way.

* * *

As Harry lay in his bed that night, he thought back.

Six years of taunting and fighting and hating each other, when all it took was eight days for Malfoy to completely turn crazy and end up kissing him? It didn't make sense.

It didn't make sense that just a second later, right after he had started kissing Harry again, he pulled back, taking his arms from the dark-haired boy's waist. "I'm sorry," he had said quickly, as he rushed out the gate and seemingly into thin air.

He had just.. disappeared.

And Harry was right; Malfoy's reasons why he shouldn't only gave him a million more of why he should

(**A/N : Hi! I'm sorry I didn't update in like - three months? Um. But I was on holiday, and then family stuff, blah de blah. And I may or may not have forgotten [oops]. But here's another chapter and I'll post more today/tomorrow, as I've got it written. Thanks for reading :) **)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

He felt like he was going insane.  
Out on the pavement in a muggle neighbourhood, his knees drawn to his chest and his skin covered in goosebumps from the cold. He was hungry, tired and irritated, and he just wanted to go home.  
But he couldn't. For some stupid reason, he couldn't.

* * *

The sun rose and it was just another day to cross off.  
Dudley thundering down the stairs, Vernon boasting about something or the other. It was the same pointless stuff that he just wasn't in the mood to deal with.  
So, he decided to go outside. It was warm and the sky was empty, and well. He couldn't waste it.  
That's how he ended up at the gate, tucking his wand into the back pocket of his shorts and stepping out, right beside -  
Draco.  
Of course, Draco.  
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, pulling the boy up and along the street with him. He stumbled tiredly after Harry, not protesting, and when they got to the little park, Harry shoved Draco through the hole in the wall.  
"I couldn't leave. I-"  
"You what? You want to hex me, tell me how much you hate me, how much of a mistake it was?" Harry demanded.  
Draco didn't say anything, so the boy continued. "I knew writing to you was wrong. I did it because I thought, of everyone, you didn't expect anything of me. You wouldn't care either way, you couldn't give a damn about what I did and I respected that. So I wrote to you, asking you one thing and you fucked even that up!"  
"Harry.."  
"Don't. Don't Harry me, okay?"  
He sighed, moving to leave through the wall.  
Draco didn't let him. He tugged the boy back, standing them against the wall, feeling Harry's breath hitch as their bodies collided.  
"I don't want to care about you, but I do. And I'm sorry. For this, too." He said softly, before he was kissing Harry again. It was crazy, stupid, and. It wasn't the worst feeling in the world.  
It should be, a voice in Harry's head was telling him.  
He ignored it. He had never liked that voice anyway.

* * *

3 Days Later

* * *

They hadn't spoken about what was supposed to happen tomorrow. Every time Draco tried, Harry would stop him.  
Because, even after three days of whatever this was, he was still going through with it. It wasn't the kind of thing he could just turn off after a handful of days, but Draco didn't seem to understand that.  
He had to do it. For.. for everyone's sake. He would just end up dead on a battlefield at the hands of Voldemort anyway. At least this way, he wouldn't have to fight.  
He was so, so tired of fighting.  
Draco convinced him to come home with him that night, away from his cupboard and his family and everything he hated. To have a last night that mattered.  
In the morning, when Draco woke up, he was gone.

(**A/N: really short chapter this time, sorry. the last one up tomorrow.**)


End file.
